


Keep the shadows

by Xasilios



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin Killua Zoldyck, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Dark!Killua, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Genei Ryodan | Phantom Troupe Member Killua, Hunter Exam (Hunter X Hunter), Killua Needs a Hug, Murder, Nen (Hunter X Hunter), Theft, York New Arc, and he gets one, phantom troupe as family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xasilios/pseuds/Xasilios
Summary: Life is ruled by the strongest.And there is always someone stronger than you.Killua is weak, so weak, that everytime he stands he gets beaten down again.Tigers are bigger than mice and lions are stronger than wolves.But when spider webs unite they can tie up even a lion.Killua is weak and runs far away and finds strength along the way.
Relationships: Genei Ryodan | Phantom Troupe & Killua Zoldyck, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer & Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. The numbness spreads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I don't know whether you're here because you're reading 'Afterwards' or because you found this fic in your search, but I'll welcome you nonetheless! 
> 
> This chapter is like a preview, because it will take a bit for me to organize my writing plan and all, so you can expect the next chapter in a few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: blood, mentions of injuries and torture

Vomit was spilling past his lips and it got harder to breathe. His vision blurred and his head hurt as if a thousand bees were swarming around in it. And he felt incredibly hot, sweat and blood mixing until you couldn't tell them apart anymore. The bile hurt his throat and the coughs left him wheezing. He wasn't going to die, that he was sure of. Though he didn't know what more he had to endure to be freed of the pain. 

  
"Stand up." 

  
And he tried, he truly did. He pushed himself up on his forearms and even that simple action made his arms shake. If he continued pushing on, it felt like something would break. He didn't know whether it would be his arms, ribs, his will, the other's patience or something entirely different.

For the matter of fact, he couldn't stand up. It was physically impossible. His body had reached its limit. 

  
"Stand up." 

  
He pushed and pushed and continued pushing. And the shaking spread from his arms to his entire body as if he was a leaf in the wind holding on to dear life.  
Sweat dropped from his forehead to the ground, but through his unfocused vision he couldn't tell if it was truly sweat or simply blood. The weight of the whole world seemed to be pushing down on him, forcing him to lay on the ground in a puddle of his own vomit and blood. 

Oddly enough, he didn't feel repulsed. 

No, he was too tired for that, too exhausted, too utterly spent to even waste energy thinking about it. He fought the clutches of unconsciousness knowing that while it might have felt like a relief of this burden, it was only temporary and his burden would only increase after waking. He just needed to stand up, push himself to his feet and stay standing until it was enough.    
But he couldn't. No matter how desperately he tried, he couldn't! His body shook and spasmed and all his muscles cramped. He couldn't move! 

  
"Do I need to repeat myself a third time?" 

  
He knew if he was asked to stand up once more, it wouldn't end after that. It wouldn't end for a very long time. The thought sent crippling fear through him. He didn't want anymore of this.    
His body was so exhausted and even his mind felt the strain. But he tried anyway, even though he knew he had failed before, try after try, he pushed his arms into the ground and forced his legs to move. 

It was agony. 

Pure pain rippled through him and set every single nerve end on fire. He couldn't gasp or even breathe properly, for that matter. It was so mind-numbing that all he could do to stop his body from shutting down was to claw his way beyond human limits.   
He got himself up on his knees and they felt so weak he feared he would fall right over again. Then he stretched out his arms until he felt like he had lost feeling in them. The upright position made fresh blood splatter on the ground before him. For the fraction of a second his vision tilted and turned black at the edges. Then he sharply bit down onto the inside of his cheek and the moment passed.  
He relied on every ounce of adrenaline left in his body to make him move. It was painful and if hell was real he thought it must feel like this. His vision left him and only returned as he stood on his feet again.  
It couldn't be called standing, sure, he stayed on two feet and his posture could be called upright, but the way he swayed looked more like he stood on the brink of unconsciousness. And he was. He could feel it behind his eyes. It was pounding against the barrier he had put up and he knew as soon as he let off it would swallow him whole. 

  
"That took you long enough." 

  
He wasn't offended by the mocking. He knew it to be true after all. His body was too weak to be of proper use and he couldn't remember how often he had been asked to stand up today. He hoped it would end, now that his body had reached and passed its limit.   
  
Colorful dots danced in his vision when the fist struck out. He hadn't seen it and couldn't dodge and even if he had seen the attack coming he knew he wouldn't have been able to evade it. His body couldn't move anymore. 

  
His fall to the ground came fast and hard and it knocked everything out of him. He blanked out for a while. 

When he came to again not much time had passed, barely even a minute. 

  
"Again." 

  
He couldn't even blink anymore. His body wouldn't move, not even to basic reflexes, barely to fill his lungs. 

  
"Stand up again." 

  
He heard and understood the command, but he knew he couldn't do it. Not again. Not after the hundred of times he had stood up and got thrown to the ground again. He couldn't do it anymore.   
The pool of blood around his head grew and he found a strange fascination in watching it spread in strange shapes. The reflections in the red liquid shifted with its movement and the familiar feel of it slowly pulled him under. Everything about this was familiar. The pain that set him ablaze, the iron smell of blood and the hot and sticky feeling of it on his skin, the pressure bearing down on him, the wounds he knew would end up as one of the many scars he carried around.   
Somehow it was a soothing feeling to sink down into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hands shook him awake and he knew better than to calm them gentle.   
  
It was hard to open his eyes, hard to acknowledge the person and hard to come back to reality.   
  
The blood around him had dried. 

His body was beyond exhausted, not a single muscle in his body reacted to his will to move, so he could only lay there as one of the butlers cleaned the room.   
They didn't talk to him, dutifully doing their tasks, washing away the blood around him and wiping up his vomit as if he simply was furniture standing in the way.   
The smell of the cleaning supplies stung his nose, but his face was pulled too tight to shift into a frown.   
  
Then he blinked and as he opened his eyes the cleaning supplies had vanished and someone was tending to his wounds.

His body remained unresponsive.

Though to speak truthfully, the butler wasn't quite tending to his wounds, it was simply an act of cleaning his body and tactfully avoiding any and every wound on his body. He was sure they were told to do so.   
The wash cloth they used felt cold, but as the butler dunked it into a bucket of water standing nearby, he was sure he saw steam rising from it. The butler was neither gentle nor rough, the touch felt more robotic than actual human. The fabric rubbed over his wounds and pressed onto sore spots, but he didn't say anything and endured it because he knew they were simply cleaning him.   
And even if he had wanted to lash out, he couldn't have done so, not with his body in its current condition.   
From his perspective on the floor it was quite hard to see, but the water in the bucket had turned a darker shade of red every time the butler wrung out the wash cloth.   
  
Some more time passed until he couldn't feel the cold water on his skin anymore and with more effort than he would have liked his eyes opened once more.   
The butler wasn't gone, still sitting in front of him on the spot where his blood had once spread out.   
  
He opened his mouth, but the bile had burned his throat so no sound left him.   
  
The butler took one final glance at him before taking the bucket and standing up. At the door, without a sound, they bowed and swiftly left the room. 

  
  
He was alone again and his body still wouldn't move, not even when the pressure was off him for once in his life and all the staring eyes were turned away for the first time. Why couldn't his body move, now that there wasn't anyone here to discipline him?    
  
And as he laid there on the cold floor, Killua Zoldyck wondered what life meant when the seven years of his existence were filled with nothing but pain and suffering and misery and the cold.    
  
  
And so, left alone in a room that felt too cold to stay in, cast aside by fate Killua let himself show his true feelings and cried.   
  
  
Then the door opened once again and he was too late to cover his tear-stained face. Gotoh just barely caught a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes before tiny hands covered them from view.

  
He could move again. 

  
Neither of them said anything and the silence stretched on for an eternity. He had learned to breathe silent, knew how to conceal his whole presence to make people feel like he wasn't there even if he stood right before their eyes. But now the tears clouded his vision and the pain made everything feel unbearable. 

All of a sudden Killua Zoldyck wasn't an assassin-in-training but a simple seven-year old child in pain.

  
Gotoh kneeled by his side but his tiny hands still stayed over his eyes, desperate to cling onto the last remains of his dignity as it had shattered. The butler wasn't here to comfort him, wasn't even allowed to. After training they could not talk to him and if they did their tongues would be cut off. 

Killua knew because he had seen it. Once, a few years ago, he had talked to a young woman washing the grime off his face. He had talked and talked and her expression hadn't shifted the whole time. Now Killua knew she must have known of her fate. It wasn't her fault. She hadn't said a word. He had and she had paid the prize for it. That was how he had learned it and so as the butler started stitching his wounds Killua did not say a single thing. He didn't look at him, didn't make a face, but he also didn't move his hands away from his face. 

There were wounds all over his body, hurting him. But he could bear it. This was by far not the worst he'd ever dealt with. 

He could bear it, but still, somehow, there were tears in his eyes.  
A hand wrapped around his small wrist and pulled it from his face.   
The air felt cold on the wet streaks of his cheeks.   
The hands touching his nose were firm and burning hot.   
Gotoh didn't look at his eyes and Killua was content with staring at the ceiling.  
With one swift movement the butler set his nose straight.

  
Pain flared through his whole body. His expression didn't shift.   
  
Fresh blood streamed out of his nose, running down over his lips and onto his neck. It felt incredibly uncomfortable even though he had laid in a pool of blood not too long ago. The rusty taste of it spread on his tongue making him gag.  
Killua didn't notice it but Gotoh had brought another wash cloth and before he knew he was clean once more.   
  
He closed his eyes, willing the pain to go away. Just this once. Deep down hoping that when he opened his eyes everything proved to be just a dream. He couldn't stand his training anymore, he knew why it was necessary, of course he did. But he just couldn't do it anymore. He was exhausted and he wanted to go outside and see the world and experience new things and meet people and- There was no way he'd ever be allowed to do these things. Killua was going to be an assassin. 

He had killed already and he remembered the first time he saw those lifeless eyes and knew he had done that, he had vomited. 

Their eyes haunted him, he couldn't sleep. 

Now he could and he had killed so many more. The eyes didn't bother him anymore. They were still there, watching him, but he learned to ignore their judgemental stares. 

After all, they were nothing but the resentful wishes of the dead. He wasn't scared anymore. 

  
He blinked his eyes open and noticed the absence of Gotoh. His exhaustion must have run deep if he hadn't even realized the butler leaving. Shame burned hot in his gut.    
  
A full ache resided within his body and he knew not to expect it to go away within the next few days. If he got enough rest it might have disappeared after a while, but Killua knew the bone-deep ache would last for at least two weeks.   
He could almost feel his muscle fibers straining as he stood up from the ground. His joints were locked and even after cracking them his body felt stiff. 

With a soundless sigh he rolled his head and stretched his arms out. Telling the time was impossible as he had spaced out multiple times and the room didn't have a clock in it. There was no telling how long exactly his training had gone on for and how long he'd stayed in this room afterwards, but judging by the numbness spreading through his body it had already been multiple hours.   
That thought only confirmed itself when Killua left the room and the last few rays of sunlight barely lit the hallways. 

The sky was an orange color turning red at the horizon, just touching the treetops on Kukuroo mountain. 

Killua had enough of red, it followed him from the moment he had first opened his eyes. He was sick of it. Orange wasn't associated with anything in his mind and as he looked at the sky it was simply a color. Maybe it stood for the ending of something, maybe it symbolized change. Killua didn't know and he didn't care, it was just a color, but it was better than red.    
  
  
The walk to his room was quiet and filled with a hundred thoughts running through his mind. He thought about his training, about his family and about his future. The world was neither black nor white but rather a shade of gray. And for all he knew, he was a drop of water mixing the two sides until they looked like wafts of smoke. 

If there was a place he belonged to, he hadn't found it yet and to be honest, he hadn't even started searching. Couldn't. Right now he felt more like a bird in a cage than someone with a set position in this world. 

  
He didn't really push the door to his room open, it was more like leaning against it until the wood gave out under his weight. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the door frame. He must have looked pathetic and he thanked whatever deity had heard him that none of his brothers were anywhere near him right now. 

His muscles were pulled taut and shifting his arms sent painful ripples through his entire body. Maybe, if his father was in a good mood tomorrow, his training wouldn't be physical. 

His legs moved him forward until they hit his bed frame and he fell face-first into the cushions. The pillows were soft and he sank into the blanket as if they couldn't even bother holding his weight. 

  
His room was spacious and so was the bed. Even if he rolled over ten times he wouldn't fall off of it. In a way it was luxury and he was sure other people his age didn't have rooms as large and chandeliers hanging from their ceiling. 

Killua didn't want any of it. 

He couldn't enjoy the luxury when almost all the time in his room was spent with nursing his injuries and desperately trying to get at least a few hours of sleep in. His training was grueling and the obvious wealth he was surrounded with felt more like bribery than a reward.    
Killua thought the mattress was too soft and the blankets too warm. 

He didn't want any of this. 

The only good thing about the pillows was the great soundproofing of the fabric. Not a single sound escaped even if Killua screamed into them.

  
Everything ached and he was sure he wouldn't be able to move off the bed even if he tried. His muscle fibers had torn and any kind of movement only worked to aggravate the burn. He was hungry but he knew he couldn't eat, his stomach was already upset from all the training and he would barely be able to keep anything down for long.   
  
He barely heard the door opening over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.   
The footsteps were awfully familiar and Killua wished the person would go away again. 

  
"I've heard you failed papa's training again.", Milluki said, grin clearly audible in his voice. 

  
He suppressed a groan but didn't make a move to respond. When Milluki was in that mood it was better to just keep quiet and let himself be mocked until his brother was satisfied. He had painfully learned to keep quiet and right now he was grateful for not having to talk. His vocal chords were strained and even swallowing hurt his sore throat. 

  
"You know, Kill, I really don't understand why you're the heir. I mean, look at you!" He laughed and Killua could already imagine the look on his face. 

But he wanted to know too, why was _he_ the heir? Why did _he_ need to go through such training? Why couldn't it have been Illumi or Kalluto even?    
Deep down he wished he could tell Milluki that he didn't know either, that he didn't even want to be heir. 

  
The crack of a whip sounded just next to his ear. 

He pressed his eyes shut until he saw colorful dots, still, he didn't move his face to look at Milluki. He knew if he did the whip wouldn't miss next time. 

  
Milluki audibly sighed and with the flick of a wrist pulled the whip back to his side.    
"You're clearly not qualified, Killua." And Killua agreed. He could barely stand his father's training and the man still continued pushing him to his limits. He did not understand what he was seeing in him. 

His breath shuddered and Killua realized he was shaking. Was it fear? Or did the adrenaline start wearing off? He wasn't scared of Milluki, was he? The pain of a whip didn't scare him. 

  
Breath after breath and the shaking only got worse. His body didn't feel fear and slowly the tremor worked itself through his entire body. 

Milluki had long since left his room but whatever made his body tremble hadn't disappeared just yet. 

  
His fingertips were cold but he couldn't move his hands, his back ached but he couldn't turn around, his legs shook but he couldn't move them either. 

  
His whole body was numb and yet still shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to make the chapters around the length of 3K words (this one is 3,2K) so I hope that's okay with you.
> 
> Updates will be every two weeks on Friday!


	2. Caged in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 - Recap:  
> Breath after breath and the shaking only got worse. His body didn't feel fear and slowly the tremor worked itself through his entire body.
> 
> Milluki had long since left his room but whatever made his body tremble hadn't disappeared just yet. 
> 
> His fingertips were cold but he couldn't move his hands, his back ached but he couldn't turn around, his legs shook but he couldn't move them either. 
> 
> His whole body was numb and yet still shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter was deleted when I tried to edit it... wow... but I saved it, so it's fine.
> 
> Sorry for the late-ish update, guys

Waking up was harder than usual.

Rather than slowly sinking into consciousness it was a fight against the strong hold of sleep. Now, Killua didn't really have any special feelings towards sleep. It was a necessity rather than something he enjoyed doing. More often than not he wouldn't even realise he had slept, standing up almost a second after closing his eyes. Killua was used to getting the bare minimum of sleep, to stand up even though everything in his body begged to go back into the warm sheets.  
Yet, today he couldn't get himself to open his eyes. His eyelids trembled, eager and hesitant to open at the same time.  
He was floating somewhere between full consciousness and deep slumber.

  
The thing eventually waking up was the sound of footsteps just outside of his door.

  
Blinking to clear his blurry sight he shoved the thick blanket off his shoulder. His next action was interrupted by a long yawn and for a few seconds Killua just sat there and let his body wake up.

It was strange.

Normally he could even fight while colorful dots still blocked his vision and yet on this morning even stretching his limbs took a few thoughts too much.

In a childish attempt to free his legs from the blanket he kicked his feet. The feeling of restriction threatened to suffocate him, even though only his legs couldn't move. He had been tied down too many times in his life. With a final kick the blanket flew off the bed and landed in a heap on the floor.

  
The floor board in front of his room creaked and Killua was made aware of why he had even woken up in the first place.  
His eyes narrowed at the door as if staring at it hard enough would enable him to look through it.

Soundlessly sighing Killua let himself fall back onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to press his body into. Deep within his body there was a dull ache burning him with the slightest of movement.  
Of course, he knew his father's training would leave marks. His nose still felt sore and his knees were scraped open. If Killua ignored the pain of the burn in his muscles it almost felt like something was warming him from the inside.

  
The footsteps closed in on his room.  
Forcing his breath to quieten down he listened closely.  
  
Dull thuds, too loud to be Illumi's. Whenever his older brother visited his room Killua wouldn't know he was coming until he opened the door. Illumi didn't knock and more times than Killua would like to admit his heart had dropped when he saw the man standing in the middle of his room.  
  
There was a rythm to the steps, they couldn't be Milluki's. Milluki walked with purpose, of course, but never with rythm. He had a confident gait, stride after stride. In contrast to Illumi, Milluki walked with noise and yet that noise was it that send shivers down Killua's spine whenever he heard it. A visit from Milluki never meant anything good.  
  
Both Kalluto and his mother never bothered to come to his room, so Killua didn't even consider the possibility it might be one of them.  
His father didn't walk like that either.

Sylva walked quietly. If Killua didn't notice Illumi standing in front of his door then he didn't notice Sylva even when he stood right behind him. The man always assured him that one day he would be just as good but Killua didn't know if he wanted to be like his father if even the non-existent noise of his steps scared him.

He couldn't trust the silence.

Not in this mansion and not anywhere else in this world.  
On some days shivers would send goosebumps across his neck whenever one of his family members was near but for the most part his body was just as slow at noticing their presence as his mind was.

  
_A butler then_ , Killua deduced and without his notice his body relaxed, sinking back into the pillow clutched to his chest.  
A butler wouldn't come to do him harm.  
  
And still, he was staring at the door as if it would open and his father would be staring back at him. His pulse quickened.

It was irrational, really. He knew it couldn't possibly be one of his family members. Not unless they had come up with a new technique to fool him. And that thought only worked to fuel the fires of anxiety devouring his guts.

  
  
The footsteps came to an halt.

In the gold of the doorknob Killua could see his own distorted reflection staring back at him.  
The doorknob didn't turn, instead the wooden flap at the bottom of the door lifted and hands clad in white gloves locked it unto the hook right above so it stayed open.  
Then the hands retreated.  
  
Killua realized what that meant, he knew it. And he hated it. It was as if someone locked him into a tiny cage within his cage. The little freedom he once had vanished into wafts of smoke and no matter how hard Killua tried to hold onto them they slipped through his fingers.  
  
The hands came back, this time carrying a bowl with steaming soup. With expertise the butler placed the bowl into the room without spilling a single drop and Killua recognized him to be the butler that always managed his confinements. Next came a silver spoon, nothing short of royal cutlery. Yet Killua didn't feel like he was being served food fitting a royal banquet. This was a prison and no matter what his parents attempted to do, they couldn't disguise that fact.  
  
With dull eyes Killua observed as the butler -he didn't know his name- placed a loaf of bread next to the bowl and proceeded to close the flap again.  
  
Somehow his appetite had completely vanished and the sight of the food only served to remind him of his current fate.  
  
Judging by the rustle of clothes the butler just stood up again and with bated breath Killua waited for the words that always came whenever that flap opened, that always came when he didn't please his family.

  
  
"I hereby convey the decision of Master Sylva. Young master Killua, as a punishment for neglecting your training and failing the Master's regiment you will be confined within your room for two weeks."

  
  
Killu felt like someone had just put a noose around his neck and pulled tight.

Two weeks was a lot.

He was going to miss two weeks of training and if this had been his father's decision the man must have been beyond mad.  
Missing two weeks of training was equivalent to signing his death warrant.  
As soon as his punishment was over the training awaiting him would be worst of all.  
The most he had ever missed were a mere five days of training. And to make up for it his father had forced him to train for two days straight with way too little breaks in-between. Needless to say, Killua had been exhausted after and exhausted was stating it really lightly.

He didn't notice, but he had started shaking, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm.

  
Slipping off the bed he tiptoed to the food, taking extra care to keep his footsteps quiet. He didn't want the butler to know how distraught he truly was. The shakening only worsened and in a futile attempt to stop it from spreading Killua clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white.  
  
  
He didn't touch the food. And the soup stared accusingly back at him as if it was his fault they were stuck in his room without any means to escape. And it was, wasn't it? No one was at fault except for him. He was the one failing the training, he was the one that couldn't stand up anymore.  
  
His gaze went back to the shiny golden doorknob. And he knew it would be locked, yet he still tried, twisting and turning, pulling so hard the doorframe rattled.  
Of course, it was locked. He knew even before he had tried.  
  
Pushing a hand through his hair he took a few steps back.

Slowly the realization sank in.

This room would be his prison for two weeks. The only space in this mansion that he had seen as some sort of sanctuary brutally turned against him. He knew after that he would stop feeling safe within the walls of his room.  
The barrier he had put up had just been breached. His room was just another prison, another cage without a door.

  
  
Rage build up inside, one drop close to completely overflowing.

  
  
With sudden vigor that only worked to aggravate the burn in his muscles he turned, pulled his arm back and let his fist soar forward.

As soon as the hit connected the skin on his knuckles ripped and with a hiss Killua cradled his hand to his chest.  
The punching bag, target of his anger, swung, the hook in the ceiling loudly creaking.  
Then it came back at him and Killua only barely managed to dodge the heavy weight.

He couldn't do this anymore.

Everything in this mansion seemed against him, his own family was the one that held his life in their hands.  
  
Out of habit Killua sank to his knees and pulled the lowest drawer of his nightstand open. His movements were almost automatic, he had done this so often that it didn't even take an active thought.  
With stiff hands he grabbed the small bottle of disinfectant. The smell stung in his nose as soon as he screwed off the lid. Somehow there were tears in his eyes. They didn't drop but they blurred his vision and made it incredibly hard to clean the wounds on his knuckles.

It burned.

Quite a lot.

But Killua was used to burns.

  
Ripping a piece of bandage off with his teeth he pulled it tight around his knuckles. The roll of bandages was smaller than he initially remembered and absent-mindedly Killua made a note to himself to ask one of the butlers for a few new bandages. He couldn't afford to get low on supplies.  
  
The butler in front of his door didn't leave. He was keeping watch. He was sure the butler would report to his father as soon as his shift was over. Deep down there was this certain curiosity which butler would be the one replacing him but he had no means of knowing that, so the thought was discarded as soon as it had formed.  
  
Letting his gaze roam the room Killua thought about what to do with the sudden free time.

While it was certainly not meant as a reward two weeks without training and order was better than his parents thought.

Of course, he was locked in. He couldn't go out or even walk around within the mansion, but at least he had the privacy of his own room.

  
The low creaking noise of the punching bag swinging around stopped Killua from forming coherent thoughts. So before all else he walked over to the punching back again and held it still until it wasn't moving around anymore.

Training right now was out of the question, the thought alone being enough to spike the pain in his bruised knuckles.  
He could study and glancing at his desk he saw two paper stacks that one of the butlers had probably brought in while he had been asleep.  
And if he knew his father well enough the man expected those to be done by the end of his confinement.  
  
But was he in the right mind to study?  
  
He couldn't imagine himself sitting at that desk, pen tightly clutched in hand and writing for hours on end.  
  
His gaze strayed from the desk and the idea of studying was discarded.  
  
Ultimately he found himself staring at the wardrobe. He knew the contents by heart, knew where which clothes hung.  
  
This mansion was a prison. It had never been anything else. He knew life was not supposed to look like his was right now. Yet he had accepted it since he knew they weren't like other families. They were an assassin family. But he didn't want to do this anymore. He wanted to see the world, meet new people, figure out where he belonged.

  
He couldn't do this anymore.

  
With shaking hands -and why was he shaking so much lately?- he opened his wardrobe.  
  
He ignored the clothes, instead reaching out for one of his backpacks. A simple black inconspicuous one yet with quite a lot of space. Pulling it down from the cabinet it was laying on was easier than his mind thought it would be.  
Now that he held the bag his plan seemed risky, almost too risky. There was no guarantee that this would work and if he failed he didn't dare think about what would happen to him.  
First were the pants as he carefully took a folded stack and pushed them to the bottom of the backpack.

He couldn't take too much.  
And right as he was about to reach for his shirts the butler's footsteps reached his ear. His hand stopped mid-air, breath catching in his throat.

  
The butler knocked on the door, but neither unlocked it nor opened the flap.

  
"Young master Killua, I must ask you to eat."

  
Killua stiffled a sigh. Everytime he wanted the butlers to reach out to him they minded their own business and the only time he wanted them to ignore him they interrupted him.

  
"I'm not hungry!", he called back hoping the butler would just leave him alone. He couldn't under any circumstances see him packing a bag. All butlers were ordered to report any unusual behavior of his to his father. 

  
"Then I will bring you something else that will suit your taste better."

  
Killua almost felt the vein pop up on his forehead. 

  
"That's not necessary! I will eat the food, just not right now!" Killua hoped the butler could hear the irritation in his voice.

  
"As you say, young master. I will check on you once more in one hour. If you have not eaten by then I will bring you a different dish." The _a_ _nd report this to your father_ went unsaid, but Killua understood nonetheless.  
  
  
"Fine...", he whispered and continued his endeavor of packing his clothes. He would wait for the right moment and escape this hellhole.  
  
At first glance his confinement looked unbreachable. The door was locked and right in front of it a butler was stationed. And while the window wasn't locked his room was on the third floor and at any time of the day there were butlers patrolling the garden.  
Yet Killua knew just how he could flee.  
  
Right above his window there was a rain gutter creating a connection from his room to to the roof.  
Theoretically Killua could time it right and hold onto the gutter when there weren't any butlers near and pull himself onto the rooftop.  
Of course, it was a huge gamble, he didn't know whether the gutter would even support his weight and there was a huge chance that some butler might spot him while he was busy with getting onto the roof.  
  
That fact that he was willing to risk it spoke volumes on his desperation. 

  
He couldn't do it anymore.

  
If phase 1 of the break-out-plan, as he had now called it in his mind, was successful he could walk over the roof to the side of the mansion that was closest to the forest of Kurkuroo mountain.

As soon as he set foot into the forest his chance of successfully escaping would rise drastically. Though since that probability had been abysmally low from the very start that wouldn't mean much. Just because he could hide within the forest didn't guarantee his escape. For one, he had to make it past Mike. While the huge dog wasn't hostile towards him he was raised and trained by his father. Whatever he saw his father would know of. 

  
Killua didn't want to admit it, but he was scared. So very scared.  
He was shaking, no matter what he did he couldn't stop it.  
His knees were weak and before they could give out under him Killua sank down to the floor.

  
He was planning to escape from someone that held all the strings in his life.  
Logically speaking he knew he could fight Milluki and win, yet it was a complete different thing with other family members.

  
While Kalluto wouldn't actively fight him, he would follow their mother's command to stop Killua from leaving and try to apprehend him. Illumi would- no matter how his escape would go, walking into Illumi was the worst possible outcome.  
He couldn't win a fight against his older brother. It wouldn't be much of a fight in the first place.  
And if he was being really honest with himself and thought about it, even if all Illumi did was stand in his way without moving Killua would probably go back to the mansion and accept his punishment on his own accord.  
There wasn't a single plan in his mind that would let him avoid Illumi with 100% certainty.  
  
Even meeting his father wouldn't be as bad as meeting Illumi. There was a tiny possibility that his father would let him leave if he proved himself to the man. Still he wouldn't fight him, couldn't.

Killua was weak, a pebble on the side of the street in comparison to his father.  
  
Running into his mother would be problematic too. He couldn't calculate the outcome of a fight between the two of them but he knew his mother would send every butler available after him. And if he killed all of them she would come herself.

  
  
Killua's plan was _dangerous_. He knew it was. Of course he knew.

  
Yet that risk was small compared to the pain of keeping his life in the hand of another, the pain of living in a prison surrounded by family that caused more harm than happiness.

  
He didn't want this.


End file.
